Mrs. Alcot smiled.

“—­the Manleys, Lady Tranmore, Miss French, the Dean of Milford and his wife, Eddie Helston—­”

“That, I understand, is Lady Kitty’s undergraduate adorer?”

“It’s no use talking to you—­you know all the gossip.  And some county big-wigs, whose names I can’t remember—­come to dinner to-night.”  Mrs. Alcot stifled a yawn.

“I am very curious to see how Ashe takes his triumph,” said Darrell, as they paused half-way.

“He is just the same.  No!” said Madeleine Alcot, correcting herself—­“no—­not quite.  He meant to triumph, and he knows that he has done so.”

“My dear lady!” cried Darrell—­“a quite enormous difference!  Ashe never took stock of himself or his prospects in his life before.”

“Well, now—­you will find he takes stock of a good many things.”

“Including Lady Kitty?”

His companion smiled.

“He won’t let her interfere again.”

“L’homme propose,” said Darrell.  “You mean he has grown ambitious?”

Mrs. Alcot seemed to find it difficult to cope with these high things.  Fanning herself, she languidly supposed that the English political passion, so strong and unspent still in the aristocratic families, had laid serious hold at last on William Ashe.  He had great schemes of reform, and, do what he might to conceal it, his heart was in them.  His wife, therefore, was no longer his occupation, but—­

Mrs. Alcot hesitated for a word.

“Scarcely his repose?” laughed Darrell.

“I really won’t discuss Kitty any more,” said Mrs. Alcot, impatiently.  “Here they are!  Hullo!  What has Kitty got hold of now?”

Three carriages were driving up the long approach, one behind the other.  In the first sat Kitty, a figure beside her in the dress of a nurse, and opposite to them both an indistinguishable bundle, which presently revealed a head.  The carriage drew up at the steps.  Kitty jumped down, and she and the nurse lifted the bundle out.  Footmen appeared; some guests from the next carriage went to help; there was a general movement and agitation, in the midst of which Kitty and her companions disappeared into the house.

Lady Edith Manley and Lord Grosville began to cross the lawn.

“What is the matter?” asked Mrs. Alcot, as they converged.

“Kitty ran over a boy,” said Lord Grosville, in evident annoyance.  “The rascal hadn’t a scratch, but Kitty must needs pick him up and drive him home with a nurse.  ‘I ain’t hurt, mum,’ says the boy.  ’Oh! but you must be,’ said Kitty.  I offered to take him to his mother and give him half a crown.  ‘It’s my duty to look after him,’ says Kitty.  And she lifted him up herself—­dirty little vagabond!—­and put him in the carriage.  There were some laborers and grooms standing near, and one of them sang out, ‘Three cheers for Lady Kitty Ashe!’ Such a ridiculous scene as you never saw!”